Trial by Fire (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 6) Page 12

  The heady rush from finding the Adam Tannenburg lead melted into a pool of disappointment.

  “What?” she said again, this time letting her feelings show.

  Parker almost winced. Then he went into boss mode. “It’s business. It can’t be helped.” There was just enough edge in his voice to tell her it was more than Agency business.

  She straightened, shot him a bold grin. “Maybe I could go with you.” One way to get to the bottom of this.

  Just a hint of surprise flickered in his eyes then it was gone. “Not a good idea.”

  “Why not? I could size this guy up.”

  “That would be intimidating. Besides, you just got a lead on this case. You have to follow it up.”

  Low blow, she thought, fuming under the smile still etched on her face. There was nothing she could say to that so she got out of the car.

  “Okay, see you later.”

  How she managed not to slam the car door, she didn’t know. But as she headed up the walk to the entrance, she forced a bounce into her step, though it was more from anger than eagerness at this point.

  I’ll figure out what you’re up to, Wade Parker, she vowed. And if it’s what I think it is, there will be hell to pay.

  ###

  Parker lingered in the Audi waiting for Miranda to step through the glass doors. When she disappeared through them he gave her a minute more, then peeled out of his spot and spun onto West Division heading for Waukegan.

  He was in a hurry.

  When Miranda had rushed inside the library building in Evanston, he’d contacted the next suspect on his list from Demarco and set up a meeting. Now due to the heavy traffic he would be late for it.

  The man resided in Waukegan. Woodward Kaufmann, the blue eyed one. Parker thought of the eyes in the photo of him Demarco had provided. Deep blue, very close to the shade of Mackenzie’s. The color had gotten his hopes up.

  If this was the man he was looking for, he could end his search and this charade with Miranda.

  Once again remorse pounded the inside of his gut. And once again he ignored it. He could lie to get information he needed for a case but he despised lying to Miranda. And he knew she could see through his ruse. Once this was over he would make it up to her.

  If Kaufmann was the one, this visit alone might do that.

  He took the ramp onto Edens Expressway to the north and ground to a halt. He grunted under his breath. The traffic was even worse here. It going to make him even later. When he’d called, he had posed as an insurance salesman. He had given the woman who’d answered the phone his best pitch for a long-term care policy. By the time he got to Waukegan for all he knew Kaufmann would be out to avoid the sales call.

  But he had to try.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Once inside the Larrabee station Miranda decided she needed a breather to calm down so she headed to the Evidence Room and the little desk in the corner.

  She took the case file out of her briefcase and went through the papers again to see if anything jumped out at her now that she had Adam Tannenburg’s name.

  She couldn’t concentrate.

  All she could think of was Parker’s smug look when he told her he had another “interview.” What a con artist she was married to. She had half a mind to march upstairs and demand Demarco tell her who these so-called interviewees were.

  But what if her gut was right and Demarco had no idea what she was talking about? She would embarrass Parker and tarnish the image of the Agency. She couldn’t do that.

  She’d just have to figure out another way to get him to cough up the truth. It would be a challenge. Parker could be sly and sneaky when he wanted to. But so could she.

  She put the paper she’d been staring at down and sighed. There was nothing here. She’d already gone over all the reports twice. The only thing she hadn’t looked at was the evidence box.

  She needed to go to Demarco. Not about Parker. To tell him what they had and ask for a search on Adam Tannenburg’s whereabouts. But if she hadn’t gone through everything here first, she’d look incompetent.

  She tilted her head and eyed the box. The idea of what might be in there made her cringe but what had to be done had to be done.

  She squatted down beside it and lifted the lid.

  Everything was neatly bagged and tagged. She took out each bag one by one, made a note of its contents. Charred bits of wood from the walls. What was left of the melted space heater. Shoe and fingerprints—none of which could be traced to anyone but the vic. The last bit of Lydia Sutherland’s beautiful long blond hair.

  And down at the bottom of the box was a paper without anything attached to it. She pulled it out and read it.

  It was for sexual assault evidence—a rape kit.

  The paper listed the department, the dates, instructions. The medical examiner had collected the material on scene and signed off on it. Miranda wondered how he managed to get anything out of the singed body but apparently some of Lydia Sutherland’s remains were intact.

  But where was the kit itself? Where were the results?

  Miranda’s back grew stiff.

  Did somebody think this was a game? She rose, the sheet still in hand and marched upstairs and into the Homicide area. She found Detective Shirley Templeton sitting at her desk in the third row. There was a guest chair beside the desk but she didn’t take it.

  She slammed the paper down on the desk right under her flat nose. “What the heck is this?”

  The detective was hard at work at the computer. Her brown curls seemed tight enough to tie her brain in a knot. She was dressed a little better today, a cheery yellow jacket with a scalloped collar over a polka dot top covering her squarish frame, tiny gold rings on her earlobes. From what she had on the screen it looked like she was investigating some gang activity.

  Slowly she tore her attention from the screen and eyed the paper without looking up at Miranda. “It’s a rape kit report,” she announced.

  Whoopee shit. “I know that. I can read. I found it in the evidence box for the Sutherland case.”

  The detective narrowed a makeup-less eye at her. “Must be because you’re such a good investigator.”

  Miranda ground her teeth. “Knock it off, Templeton. You know what I mean.”

  “What do you mean?” Templeton’s look turned innocent—with a layer of frost over it.

  She didn’t have time for these games. “I mean where are the results? Where is the rape kit? I didn’t see one anywhere.”

  Templeton turned back to her computer, pressed some keys. “The rape kit was sitting in cold storage. Never processed.”

  That took Miranda’s breath. “Never processed? Why?”

  The detective lifted a shoulder. “I guess because there never was a suspect to match the DNA against.”

  The ME managed to get fluid out of Sutherland’s body and nobody processed it? “That doesn’t tell me where the kit is.”

  No reply.

  Miranda wanted to grab this stubborn woman by her scalloped collar and shake the information out of her. Instead she picked up the report and put it over the keyboard so Templeton couldn’t type.

  The detective let out a short, steam engine like huff and turned back to her. “I sent it to the lab last week. Just as well. We have much better DNA techniques now.”

  “Last week?” Miranda felt a little dizzy. How could she solve this case when someone else was working on it behind her back? “This paper doesn’t indicate anything like that,” she said, letting her voice hint at a threat. Police departments had to be sticklers for the chain of custody.

  Templeton only sighed. “This does.” She opened a drawer and pulled out another paper.

  Miranda snatched it from her and quickly scanned it. It had the same data as her report along with a record of submission to the crime lab and Templeton’s signature. Sure enough, that part was dated last week.

  She folded her arms to keep herself from punching the woman. “When were you planning
on showing this to me?”

  “When I felt like it.”

  She should go straight to Demarco. Turn her in for insubordination. But something behind Templeton’s surly exterior wouldn’t let her do that.

  No, she decided, she wouldn’t go to Demarco. She’d just ream the detective out herself.

  She shook the papers in her face. “Look, detective. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove here. But apparently acting like a professional is beyond your capacity.”

  Templeton pushed her arm away and turned back to her screen. Miranda could see she was seething.

  “Bitch,” she muttered under her breath.

  Miranda’s brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Rich bitch with your fancy clothes and your fancy rich husband. You probably never had to work a day in your life.”

  “What?”

  Now Templeton spun in her chair and faced her head on. “Are you deaf?”

  Miranda stared at the woman openmouthed. Then she sank into the chair beside her desk, she sat there numb for what felt like ten minutes. Then she couldn’t hold back any longer. She rolled her head back and laughed until the tears came.

  Templeton stared at her, her face twisting with confusion. “What the hell is so funny?”

  Shaking her head, Miranda wiped a tear from under her eye. “What you just said to me. I’ve been called a lot of names but I never thought anyone would call me a rich bitch.”

  “Truth hurts, huh?”

  Miranda laughed again.

  Templeton thought her case had been stolen from her by some pampered upper crust from Atlanta who was dabbling at crime investigation to amuse herself? Oh, man. This was priceless.

  She reached over and grabbed the detective’s arm before she could turn away again. “Truth?”

  The detective eyed her grip. “What are you talking about?”

  Suddenly she felt as if she could bare her soul to this near stranger. “Look, Templeton. I grew up around here. In Oak Park. The poor side of Oak Park. My father left when I was five and my mother treated me like shit. I married too young to get away from her and the guy I married treated me worse. He took my baby and kicked me out onto the street with nothing but few clothes in a broken suitcase. I almost died. But I pulled myself together and scraped and fought for everything I had. Most of which was self respect. I’ve known Wade Parker less than two years. I didn’t marry him for his money. I married him for who he is on the inside.”

  For a long moment Templeton just stared at her. Her face went a little pale. Then she licked her thin lips, pulled out of Miranda’s grip and turned away.

  This time she didn’t look at the screen, just off into space. Silent.

  At last she asked, “What happened to your kid?”

  “What?”

  “You said your first husband took your baby.”

  She wanted to know about Mackenzie. She had a soft spot. “I found her, thanks to Parker. She’s in Atlanta.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad.”

  Funny that the baby was the thing she picked up on. “You have any kids?” Miranda asked gently.

  Templeton pressed her lips together then nodded. “A boy. Jamie.” She reached around her computer and picked up a photo in a frame. It was a young freckly faced kid with a front tooth missing. He was dressed in some superhero outfit. “He’s four now. A handful. My mom helps me with him.”

  She was a single parent. “And the father?” Miranda dared to ask.

  “His father was a fireman. He died on the job two years ago.”

  And that was why this arson case meant so much to her. Miranda sat back in her chair glad she hadn’t gone to Demarco. Despite Templeton’s resentment of her, she connected with the woman. On more levels than one now.

  She cleared her throat and decided on a better approach. “Look, I know you’re busy but I could use your help on this case. Do you think you could spare a few minutes?”

  It was true. Parker had deserted her and if Templeton was hiding anything else, she’d never be able to build a case against Adam Tannenburg.

  Templeton blinked at her. “You really mean that?”

  “Sure, I do. My partner’s out right now and I need someone to bounce some ideas off of.”

  Templeton let out a grin, then checked herself. “You want me to clear it with the sergeant?”

  “I’ll take care of that.” Later, she decided. After all it was better to ask forgiveness than permission. “For now let’s just let Officer Kadera know and I’ll take you downstairs and bring you up to speed on what we’ve learned so far.”

  The woman’s hard face turned softer. She almost seemed grateful.

  She rose and picked up a pad and paper along with the two reports. “Sure. I’m game.”

  Chapter Thirty

  North of the downtown area of Waukegan, Parker found himself in a section of small, middle income homes, possibly built in the seventies.

  These structures were much newer than those around the city. According to the information from Demarco, Kaufmann had moved here from Oak Park six years ago, after he was no longer required to register as a sex offender.

  Now in his early sixties, he’d been thirty-six when he was convicted of raping of one of the village trustees’ daughter in Oak Park and sentenced to ten years. He was paroled after eight for good behavior.

  Parker made a turn onto a street with rough pavement where the houses were more spread out. Bumping along he went another fifty yards then came to the address on the left. He pulled over to the curb and studied the place.

  A white frame house with a red roof, a satellite dish perched on one corner. The railing of its cheery porch matched the shingles and was adorned with pots of red and white flowers. The owner had a decorator’s eye.

  That alone put him on his guard.

  He pulled down the visor and scowled at the swelling under his eye in the mirror. Not exactly fitting for an insurance salesman. He hoped he could avoid another physical altercation this time. Not because he couldn’t handle it. Because he couldn’t handle Miranda finding another mark on him and asking questions. Not without admitting the truth to her.

  And that would not do. Not yet.

  He reached for his phone and once more studied the mug shot of Kaufman trying to age it in his mind. Kaufman was interesting. The only one on the list with a single conviction. But he had lived in Oak Park most of his life, right in Miranda’s old neighborhood. And there were those deep blue eyes and a chin line that also reminded Parker very much of Mackenzie’s. This could be the girl’s father.

  Time to see what he could discover here.

  He opened the car door and made his way up the friendly porch. He rang the bell.

  A sharp yipping rang out from inside. Chihuahua.

  After another minute there were footsteps and the sticky door was tugged open.

  A woman stood before him behind the screen.

  She was slim and attractive in a colorful chevron patterned blouse and white sailing slacks. Her blond hair was cut in a short fringe style and she wore a warm, friendly smile. She seemed to be in her mid fifties.

  “Chico, quiet now.” She picked up the creature yapping at her feet and stroked its head.

  A trembling golden little goblin of a dog with bulging brown eyes, it growled and bared its teeth at Parker.

  “Hello there,” Parker said to the animal, trying to win over its owner.

  The dog only laid back its ears and continued to growl.

  “You’re Mr. Parker?” she said.

  “Yes. I believe I spoke to you on the phone earlier? I’m sorry I’m late.”

  “Oh, no problem. Just a minute.” She carried the now whining dog over to a back room, opened a door and closed him in. “Now you be a good boy and be quiet,” she said to him. Then she returned to the screen door and pushed it open. “Sorry about that. Please come in.”

  “That’s all right,” Parker said with a smile. “I’m used to that so
rt of thing in my profession.”

  “I’m sure you are.” She extended a hand. “I’m Teresa.”

  “Glad to meet you, Teresa.” Parker ventured the guess he’d made silently when he’d spoken to her on the phone. “You’re Mrs. Kaufmann?”

  “Yes, I am,” she beamed.

  Demarco’s information hadn’t included a wife. This interview could turn out to be even more uncomfortable than he’d anticipated.

  “Let’s go into the living room.”

  Teresa led him into a smallish room with a large front window with a view of the street. It contained a comfortable looking sofa in a country pattern, a flowery throw rug, several mismatched chairs and two large red-and-white checkerboard ottomans.

  “Just have a seat anywhere.”

  Parker chose a chair near the window, in case Kaufmann decided to make a run for it once the conversation started. As he sat he scanned the walls. They were lined with several bookshelves filled with wooden figures. A nutcracker. An elf in an apron. A carriage pulled by finely detailed horses. An airplane.

  Toys.

  More were scattered on the floor beside a rustic coffee table.

  Teresa scurried about picking them up. “The grandchildren were here earlier. They love to play with Woody’s toys.” She pretended to be annoyed but her face beamed with joy.

  “I’m sure they do.” Demarco’s report hadn’t mentioned grandchildren, either. Did they belong to Kaufmann?

  “Can I get you anything to drink, Mr. Parker? A soda? Tea? Lemonade? I just made some.”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  Still smiling she sat down on the sofa. “We always joke about Woody’s hobby. You know? Woody the carpenter? Funny isn’t it?”

  “Quite amusing.”

  “But really, he’s found his calling. In fact, it’s more than a hobby. He’s turned it into a small business. Sells a good bit on the Internet.”

  “Good for him.” Parker hoped that was all he was doing on the Internet. “Is Mr. Kaufmann at home?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s out in the shop now working on a doll house for Janet’s birthday. She’s our youngest. She’s going to be six next month. She’ll be so excited. She’s wanted a doll house since she could talk. It’s one of Woody’s most popular items.”